Tuesday, 29 July 2014

The Stepford Wives of Yoga

[This blog is brought to you by the coy and awesome Ginger from San Francisco. Trust me, she is awesome.]

Originally I was going to write about imaginary drunk calls from a few figureheads and wannabes in the yoga community. As I was rambling on, I went off on a tangent and landed on something different. So I'm saving those juicy imaginary drunk calls from the yoga figureheads for later.

Rewind a little...

At the time of writing, the supposedly greatest outdoor show on earth had just finished. Thank you Jeebus! The smell of pancake, beer and vomit is finally gone. People are no longer drunk and horny, but rather hungover and worried about STDs. Princess Madgelover and I went down to the venue to check out the latest weird deep fried garbage carnival food. To my utter disappointment, I didn't see any chocolate covered bacon wrapped deep fried bull testicles... but I digress. I did, however, notice 99% of the ladies... and I do use that term loosely, pun intended... anyway, it appeared that the must-have item of the loose lady uniform for the supposedly greatest outdoor show on earth was a pair of extremely short jean shorts. Think daisy dukes but half the length minus two inches. I could literally read their lips. Ick!

But what struck me the most was they all dressed and acted exactly the same: shorts short enough to be called a belt with body language that says "I wanna ride some cowboys!"

In part it's because of my introvertiousnessity, but largely because I get turned off by the imposed expectations of fitting in a shape or form that I... well, don't fit in. This has nothing to do with me trying to cause trouble or be a rebel, although I often come across as a trouble maker and seriously, I have no interest in trying to revolutionize anything. People close to me know that I am disciplined and focused. Boundaries are critical. But at the same time, I am always intrigued by things that are outside the box. When I go shopping, I'm always drawn to the underdog or one-of-a-kind (aka "different") type of items even when they don't fit. To this day I have yet to own an Apple product, capisce?

I love being the somewhat nonconforming yet creative oddball in the herd.

Btw, why do all nonconformists look alike?

Can you see Sarcastic Yogi?

Fast forward 8 1/2 inches...

In 2011, I got strange looks from Miss No-forehead, The Divine Miss N, The Catatrophizer... when I chose not the attend the asana practice kirtan thing that night in Miami...yes, it was that fateful event in 2011... it was like a violation of the code of ethics of the 3A Yoga Inc., i.e. totally stupid of me to not join the kula, soak up as much juice from the asshole guru John Sans Testicles as possible... hmm... auspicious juice from John Sans Testicles... well, you know...

I felt out of place but I also felt redeemed. I wasn't one of those glassy eyed lambs.

The same year... yes, I was still high on the 3A koolaid... I went to the gathering for the inspired 3A yogis in Lake Tahoe. The whole thing felt like Woodstock or Burning Man of yoga, but with a bunch of hula hoop girls and even more glassy eyed lambs who looked like they were high as a kite. It was then I decided to take a break from any 3A Yoga Inc. function, particularly after hearing whispering about 10% royalty, impossible editing or publishing demands, jar of pubes, migraine treatment, etc.

Then 2012 came, the rest is history.

Fast forward a lot...

Action is more important than form... I've been told that many times in many of the yoga workshops I've been to. But oddly most of the teachers would try to alter my form to fit into the supposed form, passively and relentlessly... like I must have a perfect cervical curve in a shoulder stand or a perfect lumbar curve in a deep forward bend, though my body is going in the opposite direction.

So I'm supposed to do the thing that is less important but that's a good thing... am I missing something here?

Fast forward even more...

It is ironic that people praise individuality while trying so hard to fit in the rigid confine of an image. Even more ironic is their view of diversity consists of zero diversity.

Shit, Fuck, Cunt, Asshole, Bitch... these are words in my vocabulary. They are important and powerful. I don't quote the Patanjali Sutras when I order a tall blonde at Starbucks. I don't blurt out verses from Bhagavad Gita when I'm getting grocery. I am not covered in Sanskrit tattoos or prancing around wearing malas and other Om memorabilia. I most certainly don't blabber jargon like "radiant heart" or one-worded inspriational message likes "sri", "love", "beauty", "grace" or "shanti". Some people plaster Rumi quotes all over their Facebook page. Frankly I find that absurd.

Do these so-called yogis think they are somehow above human by posting those obscure "deep thoughts"? Or it's mandatory to post those "deep thoughts" because somehow they are above human? The weirder thing is they all seem to high-five each other for quoting someone else's deep thoughts, even when they have no clue what they mean. Or perhaps they are so insecure about themselves that they need to be just like everyone else in the crowd? Too afraid to be just a little different? Or it's some kind of approval or redemption by being or sounding just like everyone else? Because everyone else is doing it? Fluff is the new black?

I don't get it.

Perhaps it's an image thing, precisely to fit into an image. If you don't say Om or quote the Gita in every sentence, you are not a yogi.

Some people are so full of themselves they forget they fart and burp just like the rest of us common people. It's particularly true amongst yoga teachers because they can spew out Sanskrit words or do a press up handstand. After the 3A Yoga Inc. meltdown in 2012, I have gladly severed ties with 99% of the local yoga folks in CowTown: The Divine Miss N, The Catatrophizer, all of them. The fact is I no long identify with these people, or perhaps I never have. Or perhaps we never had any kind of connection. We just pretended that we did because we were supposed to be The Stepford Wives of 3A Yoga in CowTown. Or perhaps my acid tongue of truthfulness makes them uncomfortable, ya know, reality does bite sometimes. Or perhaps they are too pretentious and arrogant for my taste... and my taste is pretty horrendous to begin with.

In hindsight it's always 20 / 20. There is no freedom in a forced form or relationship. And don't even get me started on yoga selfies.

Spicy Hello Kitty mentioned "unity isn't uniformity" last year in a workshop in Denver. I think she nailed it right in the mother effing head.

I have no interest in being a Stepford Wive (or husband) of yoga (or anything). If that makes me the black sheep of yoga (or anything), I think I'm ok with it. I have more fun that way.

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About Me

A sarcastic yogi (Anusara Expired) who is blunt, often vulgar, funny (I think), witty (I've gotta be! Gotta!), loving, hypocrite-hating and elephant-pointing.
And yes, I love both yoga and potty humour, is that wrong?